


like oil and vinegar

by embraidery



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22033135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embraidery/pseuds/embraidery
Summary: "Please tell me, Blackwood, why should I go work for the CPS? I have a great office here. Great view. And that's not the half of it." Edmund swept one hand behind him before putting his papers into his briefcase."I've been authorised to tell you all about it over dinner at Tipo on the company dime. Have you had the pleasure of eating there before?"Edmund looked up slowly. He narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like you've done your research.""I may know you find their food irresistible, yes." Caspian winked. "No harm in dinner, is there?"---Caspian invites Edmund to dinner to discuss a career change. Things get rather more personal.
Relationships: Caspian/Edmund Pevensie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	like oil and vinegar

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at a time when I'd been watching a lot of Suits, so it's definitely not meant to be realistic, like, at all. Just two slick lawyers in their 30s having a verbal sparring match. I did a bit of research on the British law system, but only a little, so it's kind of a hellish hybrid of American lawyer TV and actual facts about the British legal system, so...
> 
> The menu is all taken from a Melbourne restaurant called tipo 00. I've actually had their burrata and pesto, and it was amazing.

Edmund was just sorting out a few loose ends in his office before knocking off when Caspian came to see him. Despite his loss, Caspian still looked smooth and unruffled. His long curled hair rolled and rippled like whitewater rapids, and Edmund couldn’t help thinking he looked just as dangerously alluring. It was goddamn unfair was what it was. Edmund knew he didn’t look nearly as polished: he’d loosened his tie, and one look in the window told him his curls were breaking free of the mousse he’d so carefully used that morning. 

"Blackwood," Edmund said, looking up from his papers. He tapped them sharply against the desk to organise them into a neat pile. 

"Pevensie." Caspian smiled slightly. 

"You're not here to be a sore loser, are you?" Edmund asked, and instantly regretted it. 

"If anything, the opposite." Caspian came fully into the office. He didn't look entirely at ease, which made Edmund feel inexplicably squirmy. "We could use someone like you at the chief crown prosecutor’s office."

"My brother works there, you know. I shouldn't infringe upon his territory,” Edmund said, working to keep a trace of bitterness from his tone. 

"We have his blessing for you to join the team."

"Oh, so this is a serious offer." Edmund stopped fiddling with the pens in his pen cup. 

"Come on, Edm--Pevensie, we both know you're a fantastic barrister. No need to mince words. Come work for us." Caspian put both his hands out, palms up. 

Edmund very carefully looked away from that face and that hair. "Please tell me, Blackwood, why should I go work for the CPS? I have a great office here. Great view. And that's not the half of it." Edmund swept one hand behind him before putting his papers into his briefcase. 

"I've been authorised to tell you all about it over dinner at Tipo on the company dime. Have you had the pleasure of eating there before?"

Edmund looked up slowly. He narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like you've done your research."

"I may know you find their food irresistible, yes." Caspian winked. "No harm in dinner, is there?"

"I suppose not. Lead the way, Blackwood."

"My pleasure, Pevensie." Caspian bowed slightly as he held the door open for Edmund, though he kept his eyes up, and Edmund couldn't help letting their eyes meet.

Edmund shivered as they stepped outside. A soft but persistent drizzle speckled his suit with damp. It reminded him of the times when, as a rookie barrister, he would hold his briefcase above his head as an ersatz umbrella. He hailed a cab.

It was quiet in the cab on the way to the restaurant. For once Edmund wasn't being a dick; he just didn't know how to break the silence cradled between them, or even if he wanted to. He just watched Caspian's profile as he looked out the rain-streaked window. 

The restaurant was busy, but Caspian and Edmund were given a table right away, which told Edmund that the crown prosecutor’s office had been planning this offer for a while. 

"Made a reservation for us, then?" Edmund asked.

"Actually, I was going to bring a date here, but he cancelled," Caspian replied, settling into his seat. 

"Is that so."

Caspian shook his head. "What's out of the ordinary about that?"

"I'm merely surprised you got someone to go on a date with you." Edmund's stomach swooped as Caspian frowned slightly.

"You're right, there was no date. The reservation was for you all along." Caspian looked down at the drinks menu, long hair sheltering his face.

"Does that make me your date?" Edmund blurted.

Caspian looked up from the menu, eyebrows raised. He considered Edmund for a moment. "If that's what you'd like to call it," he said, smiling slightly. He ran his fingers over the stem of his wine glass. "But I don't normally like to convince my dates to come work with me."

Edmund gratefully accepted the lifeline. "Now we get to it. I’ve told you I'm happy where I am. Why should I change that?"

Caspian cocked his head. "I don't think you're happy. I think you're successful, and there's a difference." When Edmund opened his mouth, Caspian murmured, "Unless you're about to tell me that you are genuinely happy where you are, I don't think you should say anything at all. I know you only take clients you believe are innocent. I know--"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Edmund asked, voice dangerously low. "Who are you to tell me what I do and where I would be happy? You don't know me, Caspian Blackwood."

Caspian stiffened. "I see I've touched a nerve," he said, with quiet emphasis. 

"You seem to know so much about me," Edmund said. "The clients I take, the food I like to eat. Now why is that?"

Caspian's search for an answer was interrupted by the waiter. 

"Welcome to Tipo," she said, smiling at them. "Can I get you gentlemen started with some drinks tonight?"

Edmund rolled his left hand out of the fist he'd unconsciously formed and smoothed it over his thigh. He met Caspian's eyes. The other man raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly.

"I'll have a single malt whiskey," Edmund said. 

"I'll have a prosecco, thanks," Caspian said. He smiled at the waiter until she was out of sight. He scanned the menu, although he'd already ordered his drink, before meeting Edmund's eyes. "I suppose we got off on the wrong foot."

"You suppose correctly," Edmund said, but he wasn't able to summon any anger. It came out as a sigh.

"You're right, I barely know you," Caspian admitted. 

"So why are you so eager to recruit me? Don't tell me it's just what the firm wants. You're obviously eager to get me on board."

"You're right." Caspian steadily met Edmund's gaze. "I'm not sure I can tell you why."

"It's Peter, isn't it?" 

Caspian's eyes flickered, just for an instant, but long enough for Edmund to see.

"Peter wants me to work for the CPS. Of course." Edmund exhaled. When Caspian said nothing, Edmund continued, "Do you know why I'm a barrister?"

"I've no idea."

"My parents wanted the best for all of us. Peter's a barrister, Susan's in parliament, Lucy's a paediatrician--and believe me, paediatrician is barely enough by my parents' standards. And what I do barely counts because Peter did it first. I'm just a paler copy. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't want to work with my brother."

Caspian cocked his head. "Working where you are means you're on your own path."

"Exactly." Edmund accepted the glass of whiskey the waiter placed in front of him with a thanks. "Cheers," he said, holding up his glass and touching it to Caspian's. They each took a long sip of their drink.

"Do you know why I'm a barrister?" Caspian asked. 

"No."

"I was ten when my father was killed. I wanted to make sure anyone depraved enough to kill someone’s father, someone’s brother, someone’s son would be put away where they could never hurt anyone again." Despite the severity of his words and the steeliness of his eyes, Caspian spoke calmly, in a way that suggested he had said that exact sentence many times before.

"I'm so sorry," Edmund said, caught off guard. 

Caspian shrugged and smiled wanly. “It was long enough ago that I don’t need any condolences. I just...you shared something with me, and I wanted to share something with you." 

"How accommodating," Edmund said drily.

Caspian laughed. "I can be when I want to be."

"So this is you trying to win me over."

Caspian raised one eyebrow. "Is it working?"

Edmund choked on his sip of whiskey. He made a bigger production of it than it was in order to avoid answering.

"Look. I may be here because Peter asked me to be, and I like and respect him. But you have something special, Edmund, and I think you would find fulfillment in the work we do." Caspian leaned forward in his chair. 

"Do you enjoy being Peter's lackey?" 

Caspian's eyes flashed. "I'm no one's lackey. We're each princes of our own domains."

"Not kings?"

"I'm not quite that up myself, thanks."

Edmund was about to speak when the waiter materialised at their table. 

"What can I get you gentlemen?" she asked.

"Oh!" said Caspian. "I don't believe I've looked at the menu at all."

"Let me order for you," Edmund said. "I essentially have the menu memorised."

"Alright," said Caspian, intrigued.

"For starters, let’s have the burrata and pesto. For mains, I will have the casarecce, and for him let's get the hazelnut tortellini. Then the pannacotta and the..." Edmund looked across the table at Caspian. “Let’s have the tiramisu.”

Edmund handed their unopened menus to the waitress. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?" he asked Caspian.

"You're lucky that I am not. I am vegetarian, though."

"Shit, really?"

Caspian burst into laughter.

"You bastard," Edmund said, but he couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face.

"I'm just bringing a little levity to the table," Caspian said, giggles subsiding, holding out both his hands palm up.

"At my expense," Edmund groused. 

"My apologies, dear sir." 

They lapsed into silence for a moment. 

"I suppose I should tell you the details of the job: the salary, the benefits…" Caspian trailed off.

"I know we came here to talk shop, but let's leave that for later,” Edmund said. “Besides, I’m certain I earn much more than I would if I worked with you, so I’d rather not dwell on that too long.”

“Is it that obvious?” Caspian asked. He took off his jacket and draped it on his chair before rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal surprisingly tanned forearms. 

“I won’t say it isn’t.” Edmund took his jacket off as well. “How did you get so tan?”

Caspian held up one of his arms and looked at it. “I am, aren’t I? I do as much of my work as possible in our courtyard. It’s no good when I have to do something on the computer, but I can do paperwork out there. And I go sailing on the weekends.”

“And here I thought you were practically poor.”

Caspian rolled his eyes. “I never said that.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Edmund looked up at the waiter, who swooped in with a sideboard of bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar.

“Enjoy,” the waiter said, before melting back into the restaurant.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Caspian asked, indicating the bread. 

“All yours,” Edmund said.

Edmund couldn’t resist leaning in to inhale the steam escaping from the bread as Caspian sliced it. He didn’t have the little square of fabric he used to wipe his glasses with him, so he had to settle for using a corner of his shirt to clean off the fog.

Caspian bit into the bread. “Mmm!” 

Edmund dipped his slice into the oil and balsamic. He bit down, crust crunching under his teeth. It was a perfect combination of bitter vinegar and smooth, savoury oil. “Perfection as usual.”

“If everything else is as good as this, I can see why you like this place so much,” Caspian said, anointing another piece of bread with oil. 

“Is that a hint you doubted my taste?” Edmund joked.

“Not at all.” Caspian set down his piece of bread, sending droplets of oil running down to the centre of the plate. “You accused me of making a lot of assumptions about you, but you’ve been making rather a lot of assumptions about me.”

Edmund automatically began to speak before snapping his jaw shut. “Point.” 

“That's what I thought." 

“Oh, shut up,” Edmund said, taking a gulp of whiskey. 

Caspian winked at him over his glass of prosecco. Luckily for Edmund, the waiter chose just that moment to swoop in with their starters. 

“So what is this?” Caspian asked, indicating the plates with his fork. Edmund had chosen the same starter for each of them: a white moon of cheese taking centre stage on a bed of beautiful green pesto. 

“Burrata, fennel, and pistachio pesto, and before you say it’s an unexpected combination, you’re right. But it’s magic.” 

“Alright. But I’m putting my trust in you, Pevensie, and once lost it’s not easy to regain.” Caspian cut into the cheese with his knife and fork, letting the softer centre of the cheese ooze out onto the plate. 

“Coming on a bit strong for a starter, there,” Edmund commented. He took a bite and savoured it with closed eyes. 

“This is remarkable!” Caspian said. 

Edmund smirked. “I have excellent taste.”

“As you said, this is just a starter.”

“You were talking about  _ trust _ , not whether or not my favourite restaurant does good starters.”

“True.” Caspian savoured another bite of cheese and pesto. “So, I feel I’m learning a little bit about you, but I know none of the basics. Why you became a barrister, yes; what toppings you have on your hot dogs, no.”

Edmund held one hand to his chest in mock horror. “You assume I eat hot dogs!”

“That’s exactly my point. I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“And I know you go sailing and don’t wear cufflinks, but nothing deep.”

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine?” Caspian raised his eyebrows over his glass as he took another sip.

“What’s the exchange rate?”

“One for one?”

“Do you really value your secrets so little, Blackwood?”

“I never said they’d be secrets. Two for one?”

“Up to you, I suppose.” 

“You go first.”

Edmund took another sip of whiskey as he thought. “This is all very primary school, you know.”

Caspian shrugged. “I personally enjoyed primary school.”

“Here’s my first one: I didn’t like primary school. Thought I was too much of a big boy.”

“Oh, of course you did!” Caspian laughed. “Too important for finger painting, were you?”

“More like I was reading novels at home and didn’t want to learn my ABC’s at school.” 

“I asked for shallow facts, not brags about your seven-year-old reading level.”

“Fine. Here’s the next one: I love  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ .”

Caspian considered this, cocking his head and taking another sip of wine. “I can see that.”

“Ignoring the obvious bait you’ve left there, I believe I’m owed something deep about you,” Edmund said. 

“It wasn’t bait.” Caspian propped his chin in his hand and furrowed his brows. “Something deep...you know, I’m also a barrister because my father had high hopes for me, and I sometimes want to just throw it all away and go live on my boat.”

“Is your boat big enough to live on?”

“Not particularly!” Caspian smiled. “But I suppose I could sell this one and buy a house boat. Now, back to you.”

“Well, you’d better give me a very good deep fact for this one. When I was young my sisters used to ask to paint my nails. I always moaned and complained about it to keep up appearances, but I secretly loved it.”

“Which colour?”

“Black, obviously.”

“Your sisters had black nail polish?”

“Oh yes. Susan liked some very dark colours at that age. Still does. I liked her navy blue polish, too…”

“Fact number two?”

“I’m not sure how I could follow that up!”

“You’re the one who put that fact first,” Caspian said, folding his hands under his chin and grinning. Their plates lay forgotten on the table between them. 

“Obviously a fatal mistake,” Edmund sighed. “Such a shame I have to die now. I was really looking forward to living out the rest of my life in a swiftly burning planet.” Seeing Caspian’s eyes light up, Edmund interjected, “That was not an intentional reference to Madeleine L’Engle.”

“Too bad. I was really beginning to think you might have a heart after all.”

“I’m going to charitably ignore that in favour of giving you the next fact--I did devour many of her books. I could never figure out why Peter liked  _ Many Waters  _ so much more than me, at least until I was old enough to realise I was not fascinated with all the topless women the way he was.” 

Caspian laughed in delight. “Now that I agree with.” He held up his glass, clinking it with Edmund’s, before they each took a sip. Before he could provide his next ‘deep fact,’ their meals arrived.

Caspian’s was a gorgeous bowl of tortellini garnished with chopped nuts and zucchini flowers, Edmund’s a luscious bowl of pasta twists with sausage and some unidentifiable purple vegetable. Edmund gladly soaked up Caspian’s ooohs and ahhhs over the food. 

“Now, what is this?” Caspian asked, picking up a forkful of tortellini.

“Buffalo mozzarella, hazelnut, and zucchini flowers. No meat: perhaps a surprising choice, but I have a feeling you’re a hazelnut kind of man,” Edmund said.

“Oh, so my vegetarian joke shouldn’t have landed.” Caspian took a bite of pasta and closed his eyes.

“I panicked, alright?” 

Caspian opened his eyes and pointed his fork at Edmund. “You are very, very good, Pevensie. Two for two.”

Edmund smiled in relief. “I’m going to knock it out of the park.” He tucked into his own pasta, and for a few moments, there were only the sounds of forks knocking against the heavy stoneware plates and the murmur of other diners’ conversations. 

Thus far Edmund had found conversation nearly effortless, but with a lull in which to overthink everything, he suddenly couldn’t think of anything with which to break the silence. But he breathed through his panic and took another bite of pasta and sausage, and then it doesn’t matter anymore. It was a comfortable quiet, like the one in the cab, all the more wonderful for its unexpected nature. 

Edmund picked up his glass and took a sip. He looked at Caspian again,  _ really _ looked at him: yes, he had the face of a model, but he looked real, too. Gentle crow’s-feet sketching their way into the corners of his eyes, bare hints of dark circles, hair beginning to fall out of the unnatural curl. (Oh, yes, Edmund had seen his share of the women in his family coming home with deflating hair. He knew the signs.) Caspian was intent upon his pasta, but a hand came up to cradle his face, one finger idly looping through a loose curl. Edmund had to snap his gaze back down to his plate. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had really good food,” Caspian said, almost absently.

“Me too, actually.” Edmund swirled his fork amongst his pasta. “Do you cook?”

Caspian shook his head, eyes half-lidded. Edmund suddenly put together the dark circles and gentle hair-twirling, coming up with  _ sleepy _ . It had been a long day for both of them.

“I would like to cook,” Caspian said, “but I don’t have much energy on weeknights…What about you? From the way you talk, I assume you have a personal chef.” He opened his eyes fully to wink at Edmund.

“Oh, bugger off,” Edmund said casually. “It’s mostly bachelor food for me. Pasta and the like, you know.”

Caspian nodded, head propped in his hands. His hair stuck out awkwardly from where it was trapped between his chin and his hand, which made Edmund smile.

“What’re you smiling at?”

Edmund smiled wider. “Nothing. Just eat your pasta, Blackwood.”

Caspian sighed. “It’s a shame to waste such beautiful pasta, but at this point I’ll fall asleep in it.”

“Losing is exhausting,” Edmund said. 

“Hey! That’s not very nice.” Caspian pointed his fork at Edmund. “Job offer rescinded.” 

Edmund quite liked this relaxed side of Caspian. “Oh, well, excuse me. Do I get to finish dinner?”

“Yes,” Caspian said, definitively, taking another sip of prosecco. “Please do.”

Edmund pushed his plate forward. “Good. I’m done. I don’t know if I can have dessert, actually…” 

“Me either.” Caspian sighed and looked down at his pasta. “I can’t even finish this. But it was delicious, Edmund, thank you.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow at the familiarity. “I suppose we can take our desserts home in boxes.”

Caspian leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. “I’m not quite ready to go home yet.” 

Edmund tilted his head to one side. It was a bit of a risk, but… “So, there’s one thing I would like to know about the CPS.”

“What’s that?”

“Do the powers that be at the CPS frown upon barristers seeing their coworkers?”

Caspian opened his eyes, smile slowly spreading across his face. “As a matter of fact, they do not.”

“Then I have another thing to ask. Dinner here tomorrow night?”

“So you think that this is the place to go,” Caspian said, sitting up in his chair, leaning forward slightly.

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Edmund said. 

“I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Take me home tonight.” Caspian met Edmund’s gaze, eyes clear and vulnerable, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Edmund swallowed thickly. “Oh, you think that my place is the place to go.”

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Caspian echoed. He leaned forward and whispered: “Also, my cat  _ really _ doesn’t like visitors.”

Edmund leaned forward and whispered in turn: “Mark my words, that cat is going to  _ love _ me.”

“I would worry more about my opinion than the cat’s if I were you,” Caspian said. He tried to look blasé, but his smile broke out and betrayed him. He stood up from the table and extended his arm. "Shall we go?" 

“Are you sure you aren’t too sleepy to come home with me? We haven’t even paid yet.” 

“Oh.” Caspian frowned and sat down again.

“It’s very flattering, I have to tell you,” Edmund said, smirking. He called a waiter to request a bill and their desserts in takeaway containers. 

Once they paid for their food, they headed out to catch a cab, boxes of tiramisu and pannacotta balanced carefully in their hands. The rain had stopped hours ago, though the world was still shiny and drippy, cool air swirling around them. It was a pleasant contrast to the insular, warm bubble of the restaurant, whose golden lights spilled out onto the sidewalk. 

The interior of the cab was cool and quiet, too, smelling of new leather. They reclined in the back seat, Edmund’s arm curled around Caspian’s shoulders, Caspian’s head tipped onto Edmund’s shoulder.

Edmund had a suspicion that it was going to be a very, very good night. 


End file.
